


under you

by saraheli



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraheli/pseuds/saraheli
Summary: Falling for someone new can hurt, and it only hurts more when you see them so infrequently. Seunghoon’s heart aches in the long weeks between the times he can see you, and little does he know that your’s is aching all the same for him.





	under you

Seunghoon could retell that night perfectly. No one asked him to, but he had begged himself not to forget, not to let the image of you that wrung out his heart so harshly falter in the slightest. He had first met you before that night: through mutual friends, at parties, at weddings, but none of those had made him wish so stingingly that he had learned your name sooner and made you remember him, too.

That evening, for anyone else, had been a playground of nasty mingled scents of strangers and hungry light that split open the darkest recesses of the urban evening to attract whatever scum might crawl from the between the cracks in the sidewalk. For him, however, it was only you. He couldn’t remember the bitterness of the cheap drinks or the thickness of the air or the waxy coating left on his skin and clothes; he only remembered the way the flashing lights that licked your skin, needing to know how sweet you tasted. He only remembered the music’s hands pushing your hips in perfect circles with its own rhythm. Seunghoon had never wanted anything as much as his heart craved you, and he had no idea what it was about that night that, above any of the others, made him need you so desperately.

It was a need he thought only existed in fiction. It wasn’t lust; it was something less animalistic, but equally as primitive and raw. It was something that wound up those butterflies in his stomach and reached into his throat to catch his breath when he tried to speak to you. This something was what had kept him from getting your number from himself in the days following that night, what had kept him from maintaining a normal conversation.

That something made him feel helpless to you, and he hated feeling helpless.

He hated that he couldn’t force words from his teeth as effortlessly as you. He hated that your smile clamped on his arteries and made his hands freeze.

“You’re Seunghoon, right? I think we’ve met before,” your breath lingered gracefully in the air and threatened to suffocate him as he nodded.

“Yeah, a few times, actually. I believe we danced together and Mina’s wedding,” he chuckled, surprised that he managed to say anything to you.

“Oh yeah! I remember because you’re so far out of my league as a dancer that you made it look like I knew what I was doing,” you giggled, pushing your hair out of your eyes.

His had heart skipped a beat at the compliment and he kicked himself each time he walked himself through this night at the memory of letting you get away from him so easily into the cesspool of the party again. The only thing that could have made him feel better about how things had gone would be to know that a mere week later would have you as weak in the knees for him as he now was for you.

He was already pining when you saw him the next time at a wine tasting with your friends. It was a warm room full of pretentious classical music and clothes that were far too gaudy for any other event.

You had seen him when he stood against the wall, chuckling at something his friend said as he swirled scarlet in his glass. His laugh pierced the atmosphere; it sent a shockwave through your body and forced you to be a little embarrassed at how heavily the sound affected you. A little diamond stud glinted in his nose, and, as he shifted with the clearing of his throat, his suit jacket strained over his broad chest.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” your friend had clasped your elbow to regain your attention.

“Oh,” your face warmed.

At this exact moment, the universe slowed and implored the world to dim as his eyes met yours. Your mouth fell open a little as you held his gaze and you felt as if you were being emptied of yourself as his eyes lingered on your features. The air around you lit your skin on fire and painted you pink with nerves as you tore yourself away. The world came back into focus.

“Sorry,” you swallowed, looking back to your friend.

That had been the moment that drank your resolve and made you hyper-conscious of his presence each time you saw him after, and it took months of mutual staring and dragging through crowds to each other by anyone who could read your body language for the two of you to speak without the circle of comforting mutual friends and pounding music.

Finally, one evening you received a message that threw your breathing into giddy unease. You swallowed and opened it.

_Are you busy?_

You chewed your lip and typed your response, telling Seunghoon that your evening was empty of activity. You nervously pressed send, chewing on your lip and feeling a childlike excitement flutter in the spaces between your ribs.

_Meet me?_

* * *

 “Thanks for coming,” Seunghoon said, an electric smile brightening the cafe, “I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

He was nervous; his heart was clenched and beating hard in his ears, his mouth was dry and begging for yours to hydrate it with your words and your lips.

“I’m not known for ditching people, am I?” You asked, and, though you laughed, your throat filling with an uncomfortable tightness.

“No, no, of course not,”  _idiot_ , “I didn’t mean it like that I’m just…”  _don’t_ , “nervous.”  _Fuck you, Hoon, honestly._

“Oh,” you breathed. You cleared your throat. “Um, should we sit?”

The tension infused into the air between you was palpable. He couldn’t believe you had come here for him and that he had managed to ask you here at all.

“I have to be honest,” Seunghoon started suddenly, “I’ve…I—Well, I know we haven’t been even kind of close for very long, hell, we only met last year, but a few months ago at Mark’s party downtown? I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know that sounds strange but…I’ve been thinking about you ever since.” You were taken aback by his suddenness, his voice reeking with discomfort and sincerity. You were silent for a moment, so he continued, “I know that sounds crazy, and I…I wanted to talk to you so badly, but I couldn’t do it.” He swallowed and looked down at his hands where they laid flat on the table.

“Seunghoon, stop,” you whispered, meeting his eyes. You let the quiet hover there for a moment as you took a calming breath, “It doesn’t sound crazy. Well, maybe a little, but I know what you mean.” You wanted to hold his hands. “I had a similar experience at that shitshow on ninth,” you raised your eyebrows until he gestured that he recognized what you meant, “it was like my whole brain restarted.” You shook your head.

“Now that sounds crazy,” he joked, meeting your eyes.

Your confessions wove together in the air, braiding into all of the weight you had each been feeling in solitude, but now, it weighed nothing. In fact, you felt like you could fly.


End file.
